


to diversify our enjoyments and amusements

by SaintOlga



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Everybody Lives, F/F, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Sexual Inexperience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 18:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8024638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintOlga/pseuds/SaintOlga
Summary: In a world where Laurens lived, and so did Martha Manning who crossed the ocean to join her husband in the newly born United States, Alexander and John are enjoying each other, and so do Elizabeth and Alexander - but Martha is left wondering what is there to enjoy. Not for long, though.





	to diversify our enjoyments and amusements

**Author's Note:**

> I always felt that Martha keeps getting the short end of a stick. So I decided to work something out for her. Title comes from one of Hamilton's letters to Eliza (2–4 July 1780).

“Oh!” Martha gasps from the door where she walked into the drawing room just to see Hamilton stealing a kiss from Eliza - or, actually, being given one, freely and generously. There are also, quite possibly, also hands involved, on both sides and in various places. Not a scene acceptable to be seen by someone else, and both participants start and pull away from each other. But Martha only mutters “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”, her eyes still averted.

“Oh, _I’m_ sorry, Mrs. Laurens,” Hamilton exclaims. “I’ll be on my way, then.” But he winks to his wife before disappearing in his office.

Eliza sighs, despite a twinkle in her eye, and turns to apologizing profusely to her friend.

For a friend Martha Laurens is, for many months now. When it was announced that Mrs. Laurens is finally coming from Europe to join her husband in the newly United States, she was expected with both anticipation and not a little trepidation, although the latter was hidden by most - first of whom was her husband himself. Elizabeth has learned to read John Laurens almost as good as her Hamilton, so often he was a guest in their house; so many bouts of illness she helped to nurse him through when his multiple old wounds flared up again, leaving him bedridden and Hamilton worried sick; so many stories Hamilton told her even before she met the man in the flesh.

So many letters she read.

Hamilton gave them to her, all of them, produced from a secret compartment in his old travel chest, tied with a ribbon still smelling faintly of hair pomade. He did so on the night Colonel Laurens moved from their house where he was recuperating after the long travel from South Carolina, to the house Hamilton found for him, only a couple of blocks away. On that night Hamilton told her his secret, on his knees in front of her and with his eyes down, but without an apology except for the fact that he didn’t disclose it before she was tied to him in marriage. The secret was shameful but he was not ashamed.

Eliza was, for him, and for herself; angry, too, and resentful, and disgusted. But then, she thought, and she prayed, and she read the letters from Laurens, read between the lines, between the reserved words hiding feelings - and she decided not to be. She knew Hamilton’s love, and she knew how it felt to love him, and she couldn’t deprive anyone of this happiness.

It took her a while to accept Colonel Laurens to their house again; but she did, eventually, and they became friends again, and then Martha came with little Frances, and how could Eliza not welcome them, so lonely, away from everything they knew? How could she not see a new sister in Martha, filling the place so empty with her own sisters so far away?

Martha is family now, in their house as often as in her own; this is why the servants don’t announce her arrival, allowing her to see their small impropriety. But surely it can be forgiven.

Nevertheless, despite apologies, and despite never showing any sign of undue prudeness before, Martha stays subdued through the tea, her gaze away, her attention wavering. Eventually, Eliza can’t bear it anymore.

“You seem a bit off, my dear,” she prompts gently. “Is something on your mind?”

She doesn’t bring up their display again, apologised for and forgotten as proper; but Martha does.

“You and Colonel Hamilton,” she says, looking up at Eliza and averting her eyes quickly, color rising on her cheeks. “You were so…” she is searching for the word, but Eliza has no idea what to suggest. Finally, “excited” is found. Eliza smiles.

“Were we? I wouldn’t say we weren’t”, she replies, a bit cheeky. But Martha still looks dismayed, worrying her lips with her teeth a bit, and Eliza reaches out with a frown.

“What is it, my dear?”

Martha shakes her head slightly.

“It’s just… You seemed to enjoy it as much as your husband,” she says unsurely. Eliza can’t help a small grin.

“I did, yes.”

Finally, Martha looks at her, her eyebrows raised.

“Is it… enjoyable? What husbands and wives do?” she asks, rushing the words out as if she is afraid she won’t be able to say it. Eliza’s eyes widen.

“Oh,” she says, straightening. “Oh.”

She has heard that many women aren’t lucky enough in this department; knows that her husband is probably a rarity even among the best of them (or so she likes to think because her Alexander is exceptional in everything). But Martha isn’t lucky enough to have her own husband’s love as well as kindness - for it is clear to Eliza that Colonel Laurens is kind, and noble, and probably cares for his wife deeply, but not in a way her Alexander cares for her. But it hasn’t occurred to her before to consider all the consequences of this difference in affections. She never saw any passion in the Colonel that she saw in her Alexander’s eyes, or, in fact, the Colonel’s eyes for her Hamilton. But surely he did experience it, if their child was any proof…

“Oh, my dear,” she says, grasping the poor woman’s hand again. “It is, if the husband makes an effort to make it so. It is for me,” her cheeks feel hot, but what else can she say but the truth?

Martha nods but averts her eyes again.

“I… I wondered,” she says quietly. “How it is.”

Eliza looks away.

“Doesn’t Colonel Laurens…” she starts carefully. Surely, surely Colonel Laurens would still be a kind and generous lover, whether he loves his wife or not - surely he would be as considerate a husband as he is a gentleman… But Martha shakes her head.

“Not since… Never, anymore.” She sighs, and glances at Eliza quickly. “He’s not like Colonel Hamilton, with his…. diverse… passions, ” she says very carefully, and when Eliza meets her gaze, confirming the knowledge that was so far unspoken between them, she continues. “He confessed to me that he doesn’t have any passion for the female sex. Despite our… marriage.”

Eliza has heard rumors about marriage being rushed, about Frances being born just a few months after the wedding took place; she always assumed it was the kind of indiscretion a young passion may cause, the kind she might have committed herself if her Hamilton was around before the time of the wedding, and not away in the army. But now, her entire view changes. She doesn’t ask questions, though; she can see that the topic seems to cause Martha distress. She squeezes her friend’s hand instead.

“So I was always wondering,” Martha continues, bolder, “what pleasure can be found.” She looks up at Eliza again, questioning.

“Oh,” Eliza gasps in realization of what’s asked of her. “Oh… do you want me to… tell you?”

Red to her ears, Martha nods.

 

* * *

 

The idea is born that day, when Eliza is trying, in words stumbling and awkward and often lacking, to tell her friend about things she only knows in touch and taste and feeling. They part that day blushing, their eyes darting away from each other, secrets shared and hidden to be pondered on in private. But the idea takes hold in Eliza’s mind, and grows despite the struggle put upon her common sense; grows over her the sense of possessiveness, and grows some more, until she decides that action is required. But first, she watches.

Any woman of good sense knows how to watch people. It’s a skill necessary to find out whether your guests truly enjoy the dinner, or their praise is just politeness, and there will be different impressions shared in others’ drawing rooms. It is also necessary to know whether your husband is displeased, whether your son is hiding some mischief, whether your daughter is in love. And of course, it is absolutely necessary to learn which young gentleman is interested in which young lady. Or not so young, as it may. And when Eliza watches she can see the interest in Martha’s eyes when looking upon her Hamilton; and an appreciation in Hamilton’s eyes, although he is good enough to leave it at that. But it is just what she needs for her idea to blossom into a plan.

“Now, my dear,” she says once Martha and her are sitting again in her drawing room, tea and biscuits served and enjoyed, “how do you like my Hamilton?”

“What do you mean?” Martha raises her eyebrows, placing her cup on a saucer. “Colonel Hamilton is a wonderful gentleman; but surely, you know my affections for him…”

“I mean,” Eliza leans forward, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, “how do you find him _as a gentleman_.”

Martha gasps, grasping her meaning, and pulls away.

“Eliza!” she cries, “oh now, I would never…”

“I wouldn’t mind, you know”, Eliza says conversationally, taking a delicate sip from her cup. Martha gapes at her.

Allowing her friend some time to collect herself, Eliza looks up at her again.

“Do you remember our conversation on the topic of… enjoyment?” she asks with an encouraging smile, not that she expects Martha to forget it. “I was pondering upon it, and if you would be interested, I wouldn’t mind - forgive me my boldness - to lend you my Hamilton for some… exploration. I’m quite sure he wouldn't mind either.”

After some more gasping and rumination, Martha decides that she, in fact, would like it very much.

And Colonel Hamilton, as predicted, doesn’t mind.

And Colonel Laurens, while asked out of politeness, isn’t really in a position to object.

 

* * *

 

It is of no surprise to Eliza that her Hamilton is a good teacher in this matter; she has experienced his teaching methods herself, after all, and since then, they have perfected quite a few of his skills and developed some more. The only thing she worries about is that his heart will go into the teaching. Waiting in her bedroom on the night he was dispatched to the Laurens’ house, she realizes that the possibility bothers her, and that she is prepared to share her husband’s heart with one Laurens, but not both. But upon return, he reassures her that while Mrs. Laurens is quite a woman, and a talented student, she is not one for his soul; and his reassurance is very thorough, despite hard work the night before.

During the first weeks after that, Martha can’t bring herself to share, and, in fact, to look her in the eye, blushing and stuttering and withholding her visits. She regained her confidence soon, though, and shares her (very complimentary) impressions, if not the details. Other lessons are negotiated, and repeated as necessary, whenever Hamilton has the time off from his multiple duties.

As weeks go, Martha grows thoughtful again, and with her gaze becoming more and more distant, her glances more and more furtive, Eliza’s worries come back. What if, by sending her husband into her friend’s arms, she fueled the spark that prompted her to do so in the first place? What if poor Martha, her heart lonely, decided to find love and passion in her Hamilton? It would be a disaster.

But before she can decide on the course of action, Martha comes to visit with a decisive look in her eyes, and when tea is served, she turns to Eliza with boldness.

“I was thinking”, she says, clearly making an effort to look Eliza in the eye. “The things that Colonel Hamilton taught me…” she swallows, blushing; and Eliza feels the answering heat in her face. But Martha continues in the moment, “Most of those things, they don’t actually require… what makes a man, a man.”

Eliza nods, unsure where this is going. She knows it, of course; learned the good way to consider a man’s hands and lips and tongue as important as more private parts, if not more. But…

“So I was thinking,” Martha repeats, blushing harder, “that if your husband and mine can do what a husband does with a wife, however they do it… could a wife do it with another wife?”

Eliza’s eyes widen.

“Oh”, she says, as seem to happen often in these conversations. “Oh.”

“What I mean”, Martha continues, looking at her with a brave effort, “would you, my dear, consider doing it with me?”

Eliza does consider.


End file.
